Chapter Eight #2
But Catriona was in deep disgrace, and in some eyes, he had ruined her. He and Catriona knew the truth, and that awareness sat like a heavy stone on his shoulders.
“Thomas, the truth seems clear to me,” Mrs. Rennie said. “What now?”
Standing, Evan leaned forward to knock his fist on MacConn’s desk. “We helped each other survive the conditions,” he said, low and fierce. “She saved my life. I helped her. It was hardly a romantic rendezvous.”
True, the girl was innocent in all of it. He had gone too far, his flaring need for her taking him by surprise. If they knew the whole truth of it, he had little defense. He owed Catriona everything he could give her. And he felt a strong, rising urge to get her away from this situation.
“The fact is that you were alone and unchaperoned overnight,” the reverend said.
“True,” Evan admitted.
“There is more truth to it than that, Thomas!” Mrs. Rennie gave her brother such a vicious stare that Evan thought the man might buckle under its force. She glared at Evan.
He was not about to give way. “You are determined, madam. What difference would the truth make to you?”
“Calm down,” Finlay said. “It is obvious to me that Lord Kildonan is a gentleman and can be trusted. And Catriona can be strong-willed but she is levelheaded.”
“Word will get out about this,” Mrs. Rennie said. “Mrs. MacAulay loves to gossip. This will get all the way to the cities, and the reverend’s name will be attached to the scandal. It could impact his living here in the kirk and manse.”
“It would have been more horrible if the girl had frozen to death—pardon, Father, but it is true,” Finlay said. “If it were me, I would have done the same as they did.”
“It is a distressing situation,” the reverend said, and lifted his hands as if in surrender. “I thought we had lost the lass on the mountain, like your brother.” He sighed. “But I am grateful to the Lord above that we found her.”
“You should be grateful to Lord Kildonan,” Finlay drawled from the doorway.
“Regardless, Catriona cannot stay here,” Mrs. Rennie said. “It is unthinkable for her to live in the reverend’s house in a state of sin.”
“Sin!” Finlay glowered.
“I shall have to move in and take over running the household,” she went on. “We have kin in Glasgow who might take her in.”
Evan spun. “Blame me if you like. But do not punish the girl.”
“It may be best for her to leave for a while,” Thomas MacConn said.
“It pains us, of course,” Mrs. Rennie said. “But her father is God’s representative. He must uphold virtue.”
“Madam, compassion and forgiveness are virtues you seem to lack,” Evan said.
She gave an indignant huff. “I am thinking of the girl.”
Smothering his reply, Evan fisted his hands, thoughts roiling.
They would send Catriona away like the Highlanders who had been cleared off the land.
Her bright spirit would wither if she left the glen she loved.
Her songs, he thought; she collected songs for the love of Highland legacy. That would have to end.
She had rescued him, had shown him compassion and a generous spirit, and she would reap heartbreak for that. He felt it was all his fault and none of hers. He already carried the burden of a catastrophe that he felt he had caused. In loving her, he had ruined something bright and beautiful.
But he could salvage this disaster and rescue her. He owed her. He wanted her out of this situation. And he—he wanted her in his life.
“Enough.” He folded his arms and faced the others. “I will marry the girl.”
“Marry her!” her father boomed. “Aye, and you should!”
“You what?” a voice said from the doorway. Evan glanced up. Catriona stood in the threshold, her face pale, eyes wide. She stared at him. “What?”
“I will marry Miss MacConn.” He held her gaze. “If she will have me.”
*
At first, Catriona felt stunned, as if he spoke in some strange, slow language. Staring at him, caught in his thrall, she did not move. His gaze was penetrating, hazel green intensified by sunlight filtering through the curtains. She could not look away.
He approached her. “Miss MacConn?” He spoke softly, as if they were alone.
She stepped back, aware that her father scowled and her aunt glowered, while Finlay regarded all of them with the bemused air he often adopted. What had Evan told them about their night together? Had they forced him to this?
She knew they surmised the worst and must have pressed for marriage. An earl would not offer to marry a minister’s daughter after so brief an acquaintance, unless there had been utter scandal. There was some reason for that, true, but it was not necessary.
She felt caught like a fish on a righteous hook. Evan only offered marriage out of pressure and obligation. And with Grant’s muttered threats still echoing in her head, she was already dismayed and simply did not know what to say.
“M-marry?” she repeated, sounding like a dimwit.
“Miss MacConn.” He took her hand. The feel of his fingers over hers reminded her of his intimate touch, the touch that melted her when they had been alone.
She wanted to keep those secret memories safe and private, wanted something precious to nourish her heart in her dull future. Now her secrets were known, discussed, judged, stolen from her.
And he was not the dear Evan Mackenzie who had held her so tenderly, cared for her. He was Kildonan, son of the hated previous earl, and even more a stranger to her than before. She could not trust him. She had been a fool to succumb to him.
Mr. Grant said Kildonan would sell off more land, then leave Kildonan and the glen to others to manage. Marrying him meant allying herself with more forced changes in the glen—and meant a life in the Lowlands, not here. She could not bear that.
“I will not,” she answered finally, tugging her hand from his.
“Hear me out,” he said fervently, reaching for her hand again.
“I will not marry you,” she enunciated, and whirled away. He caught her arm, his grip firm but calming, nothing like her struggle with Kenneth Grant minutes before. Yet she twisted desperately, angry, upset, partly at Grant, and partly in confusion.
“Catriona, please listen,” he murmured. She paused, but turned away.
“What is the matter, girl?” Aunt Judith rose to her feet. “Behave yourself!”
“Kildonan’s proposal is the best thing for everyone,” her father said, his voice a powerful rumble. “I am glad you are safe. But I cannot condone the rest of this, and will not tolerate my daughter behaving in a wild manner. You need to accept Kildonan’s offer.”
“You have no choice,” her aunt said.
“I do have a choice. And I choose not to marry him. He does not want this,” she blurted, pulling free of his hold. Spinning, she gathered her skirts and ran down the hallway to stream up the stairs, skirts floating, feet flying.
Footsteps thudded behind her, and she looked over her shoulder to see Evan striding down the hallway to take the steps in her wake, followed by her father, aunt, and brother.